


i'll owlways come home to you

by earlgrey_milktea



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, BokuAka Week, BokuAka Week 2016, Comedy, Drabble Collection, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-06
Updated: 2016-12-13
Packaged: 2018-09-06 19:41:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8766418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/earlgrey_milktea/pseuds/earlgrey_milktea
Summary: more bokuto and akaashi and their incredible chemistry through various AUs.or, in less pretentious words, my contribution to (yet another!!) bokuaka week.





	1. royalty/bodyguard + birthday

**Author's Note:**

> i'm always here for my fave volleyowls!!1!1!!!
> 
> unfortunately this week is also my exam week, so pls let me know if you spot any typos or weird grammar structure (lmao remember when i thought i'd major in eng lit?? ahhaha past me is stupid)
> 
> i hope you enjoy the drabbles i have in store for bokuto and akaashi and you, my friends! please keep warm and safe and i wish you all the best happiness~~

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it's akaashi's birthday, and bokuto is here to rescue him.

Sudden sunlight startles Keiji awake. Pulling the heavy comforter from his face, he blinks at the figure standing by his window. 

“Rise and shine, Akaashi!” 

Keiji closes his eyes, sighing. “Bokuto-san. I have many things to attend to today, I need my sleep.”

“I know, that’s why I’m here!” Bokuto leans over him on the spacious bed, careful not to touch him even as he grins widely. “I’m here to rescue you, my dear prince!”

“Rescue—?”

Bokuto places his hands on his hips, lifting an eyebrow as if a silent challenge. “Don’t tell me you’d rather sit in uncomfy clothes accepting expensive presents from strangers and signing who-knows-what at your mother’s command, when you could be spending your birthday with the awesome and one and only Bokuto! Koutarou!”

Despite his slight annoyance at being awoken way before he planned to, Keiji can’t help feeling amused. “You’re only one of my many guards, Bokuto-san.”

“Yeah, but how many of the Royal Guards can say they’re the best friend of the second prince!”

Eventually, Keiji manages to get dressed, and under Bokuto’s insistence, put on a large cloak to conceal his royal head from any passing serving maids. They sneak out his bedroom, sliding the shoji back in place as they slip through the numerous rooms in a practiced pattern from when they were just tiny little brats, no titles or proprieties between them, running about and exploring the vast castle that was their whole world. 

Today, Bokuto takes Keiji’s hand, and they duck behind the bare trees as his father’s men mill about in the chilly winter air. The prince follows his friend towards the outer wall surrounding the royal property. Only when the wall looms before them does Keiji tug on Bokuto’s hand, hesitating.

“It’s fine,” Bokuto tells him. His eyes are soft but warm where they rest upon Keiji’s face. “I’ve bribed Konoha to cover for you, and Komi has promised to be a welcome distraction should they come searching. You’ll be fine. After all,” and Bokuto steps closer until his other hand comes to pat Keiji’s wild curls, “I’m here, Akaashi.”

When Bokuto boosts him over the wall, Keiji doesn’t protest. He doesn’t think about how Bokuto is the only one who manages to say his family name, the royal name, in such different ways each time. He doesn’t think about how Bokuto has never felt the need to tack on that extra  _ -sama _ when speaking to him, not even in the presence of other nobles or the emperor himself. He doesn’t think about how Bokuto has always been such a strong, familiar presence in his life, never one for rigid rules but always there for Keiji in whatever way he needs. He doesn’t say a word, hands scrabbling at the loose-tile shingles beneath the thin blanket of snow. When Bokuto joins him atop the wall, he’s grinning at the look on Keiji’s face again.

“Pretty, eh?”

Speechless, Keiji can only nod. The city, or what little of it Keiji can see from his perch, is covered with white, lanterns bobbing in the distance and tiny dots of colour moving about the streets. It’s lively, even in the morning cold. He’s been to the city before, but never on his own, never free to explore the streets that his family has ruled for ages and ages. 

Bokuto shimmies down the wall with practiced ease, gesturing for Keiji to jump into his arms. When Keiji’s feet is planted in the snow next to him, they join hands again, and begin to stroll through the streets. It’s quiet, but the people are friendly, even with Keiji’s face half-hidden by his scarf and the cloak.

“Here, Akaashi.” Bokuto holds out something round, something with steam rising from the white cloth. “You must be hungry, yeah?”

It’s piping hot, but sweet as it melts on Keiji’s tongue. Bokuto manages to get some on his own nose, and Keiji finds himself laughing. The vendor laughs with him, and Bokuto stands there with an indignant expression on his face until it fades into a look of fond joy.

Hours later, when it’s time for Keiji to return to his duties and Bokuto to ready for the evening feast, Keiji feels a subtle squeeze on his hand. He glances over, and catches those bright golden eyes, as familiar and as easily as his own breath.

“Akaashi,” Bokuto whispers, just within the shadow of the wall. “Akaashi Keiji. Happy birthday.”

Under nobody’s gaze but the drifting snow above them, Keiji smiles, and leans into his friend’s embrace.

“Thank you, Koutarou.”


	2. apocalypse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it's as if they're the only two people left in this godforsaken world, and it's fucking terrifying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [technically i tried to incorporate the other prompt 'accident' into this one, but i thought it felt too subtle to be included up there.]
> 
> um ya sry for the sads,,

The rain doesn’t let up.

Koutarou reaches up to wipe away the excess raindrops on his hood, though it doesn't do much to help his vision. Winter hasn’t set in just yet, but with the way it’s been pouring down, it probably isn’t a long way off.

They’re lucky the rain is just rain so far, anyway.

“Bokuto-san,” a quiet voice breaks the silence from behind him. “I think we should make camp for the night.”

“Okay,” Koutarou says, and lets Akaashi tug him off the muddy road they’ve been following for the past few days. They’re still somewhere in the suburban area, though they haven’t seen nor heard a single soul for days, maybe weeks, now. There are traces of others, looted houses and cars torn open for parts and abandoned clothing too worse for wear, but they never seem to see the actual human beings that leave these traces behind.

It’s as if they’re the only two people left in this godforsaken world, and it’s fucking terrifying.

Akaashi pauses in front of a house, mostly intact, or at least, there are no tree roots growing out of the building, its windows unbroken and all. Together, they step over the fallen fence, rust-grown and covered with a thick layer of moss. The tiny yard inside the gated walls is brimming with vegetation, so much so that they have to duck and hack their way to reach the front door.

If it was any time other than the fucking end of the world, Koutarou would be impressed. Plants are amazing, obstinate things. And perhaps that’s why no one ever saw this coming. Everyone just kept underestimating these plants until it was too late, until the roads were uprooted from underneath, until vines and weeds were choking the world as they knew it. It’s as if Mother Nature is taking her earth back, and she’s not waiting for an answer.

The inside of the house is dark, but the damage is minimal. There is no heating, the electricity lines down since the first few weeks of this new exhausting nightmare. Koutarou sets his bags down and joins Akaashi in searching for blankets, clothes, anything they can use to keep warm for the night.

When they’ve managed to build up a little nest from their sleeping bags and found blankets, Koutarou cracks open the two cans that is their ration for the night. He hands one to Akaashi, who takes it gratefully.

It’s quiet save for the slight slurping as they tried to reach the very last drop in the can. It tastes like mud, but it’s something. Koutarou shivers. The wind howls outside, and the rain can be heard slamming into the roof with relentless vigor. There isn’t even the sound of a ticking clock in this house. He tries not to look at the pictures, covered with dust now, lining the bookshelf by the wall.

“Do you think we should head south for a bit?” Akaashi asks, unfurling the creased-up map from his bag. He squints in the dim light from the window.

“I don’t know,” Koutarou says, because he really doesn’t. A month ago, Koutarou would have insisted they find his family, his friends, anybody he knows living in the outskirts of the city. Two weeks ago, they had a plan to head towards the busier part of the city. But it’s already gone and past behind them, the haunting image of greenery twisting up around empty skyscrapers following their weary footsteps. And if there is nothing to salvage in Tokyo, then where the fuck else would their hope be?

Akaashi shuffles forwards, his dark hair falling into his face. “Maybe... If we continue more west for a bit. There’s—There might be... I know people in this prefecture...”

And Koutarou is suddenly so tired. Not the kind of tired that comes from walking nonstop in the cold and wet for more than half the day, though there is that, too. He’s tired for walking aimlessly, heading nowhere in hopes of heading somewhere. There aren’t even zombies to fight in this goddamn apocalypse, just silence for hours on end and trees. Trees and trees and moss and unforgiving nature that won’t respond no matter how much he hacks away at it.

He watches Akaashi mutter to himself, thin finger tracing lines across the map. The boy looks so young, even though he’s barely a few months younger than Koutarou himself, but the way the soft grey light hits his profile, the tired lines tugging his lips down, the way the ill-fitting brown sweater hangs off his scrawny frame. Once upon a time, Akaashi told him, he used to play volleyball. Once upon a time, Akaashi might have played setter to Koutarou’s wing spiker. Once upon a time, they could have conquered the nationals. But here, in this new silent world, Koutarou found Akaashi tangled within thick vines of ivy, cutting him loose not because he wanted to save someone, but because he needed somebody else that breathed and talked to ensure he was somehow still alive.

Here, in the middle of nowhere with nothing left to lose and nothing more to chase, here they are just two lost teenagers, struggling to survive for god-knows-what.

That’s probably why it just slips out from between his lips, like a long heavy sigh, too much to hold in anymore. An accident. But Koutarou can’t find the energy to take it back.

“I love you,” he whispers into the muffled quiet between them. “I love you,” he repeats when Akaashi’s muttering ceases and the silence only grows louder, deafening, stifling.

Green eyes meet his, and for a moment, they don’t do anything, don’t even breathe, as they just stare back at each other. Akaashi isn’t really one for displaying his emotions outwardly, but Koutarou knows him enough by now to see the slight narrowing of his eyes, the dip in the corners of his lips, the way his fingers curl up on the floor.

“No, you don’t,” is all Akaashi says in response, and then the map lays forgotten on the floor and they huddle together in the dusty room, faces pressed against warm skin and lips grazing against blue veins, scorching fingertips tapping against ribs that stand out too easily and eyelashes fluttering against stuttering chests that hold stubborn hearts that refused to stop _thump-thump-thumping_ , even after all this, just to prove to each other, just to prove to themselves, just to fucking prove that somehow—somehow they’re still alive.


	3. steampunk + rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> bokuto koutarou, captain of an airship, meets a mysterious stranger in the middle of a rainstorm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this is late! ice skating anime has officially ruined me along with everyone else, so much so i had CAN YOU HEAR,,, MY HEART BEAT.....,, stuck in my head the whole time i was trying to write my exam
> 
> also this is terrible steampunk worldbuilding i'm sorry  
> i had a bunch of notes for this and the world kept expanding so maybe! an expanded version of this au in the future??

The tavern is filled with people, pressed up corset to corset and boot to boot as everyone waited out the rain. Koutarou struggles his way through the crowd, lifting his goggles into his hair, now limp from being caught in the downpour earlier. There’s a line at the bar. He sighs, wondering if he should risk running down the street to another venue for some grub when something—or rather, some _ one _ —catches his eye. 

They’ve managed to secure a table all to themselves, long legs crossed beneath the chair and chin resting against a hand as they lean their elbows against the table. They’re dressed in dark clothes, the barest hint of silver glinting off one ear. It’s hard to tell what caught Koutarou’s eye in the first place, as this person is barely a shadow to the multitude of gold, bronze, velvet cloaks, shiny steel, feathered hats and other imported Western attires. But there is undeniably something that draws Koutarou closer until he is standing by the table, following the man’s gaze—upon closer inspection Koutarou hesitantly deems him a man—out the window. When Koutarou sees what the stranger is staring at so intently, he smiles.

“Beautiful, ain’t she?” Koutarou says with no small amount of pride, looking out through the rain where his airship sits obediently by the dock. “A bit on the old side and in need of a new paint job, but sturdy as hell and the smoothest ride you’ve ever been on.”

He turns from his pride and joy to look at the other man, and Koutarou is glad he finished his sentence, because he for sure would have completely choked at the sight that greets him. Dark locks frame fair skin, sharp green eyes, a regal nose, and thin pale lips. On anybody else, the features would have looked awkward, maybe even bordering mean, but on this man, it was nothing short of breathtaking. Upon closer inspection, Koutarou realizes the man is wearing an altered form of the yukata under his dark cloak, something rare in this day and age. Koutarou wonders at how he manages to look graceful even though he is sitting still. 

“A fan of ships, I take it?” the man says, quiet voice somehow cutting through the hubbub of the tavern. There’s a slight curl to his vowels, an accent Koutarou can’t place.

Regaining his senses, Koutarou puffs up his chest. “I’m more than a fan, my friend, you’re looking at the one and only captain of the great  _ Fukurodani! _ Bokuto Koutarou at your service!”

The man tilts his head, his eyes trailing up and down Koutarou, taking in the muddy boots and leather gloves and bandana in his hair. “What’s a captain doing here? This part don’t see a lot of ships that large. If I were you, I wouldn’t leave the ship at all.”

“It’s fine! My crew is on board, I just felt like getting some fresh air. Besides, the way this rain is going, we’re not leaving any time soon.” He tilts his head. “Let me buy you a drink...?”

A beat of silence as the man considers him again. He nods. “Akaashi,” he murmurs, and if Koutarou’s attention wasn’t solely trained upon the man, he would have missed it.

When he manages to wrestle both their drinks back to the table, Akaashi is once again staring out the window at the ship. It’s just a dark looming shape in the rain by now, but Koutarou can make out the lights in the distance. Waiting for him to come home.

“You interested in flying?”

Akaashi hums. “Never had a chance to.”

“Flying is really cool! You get to see all these different places, and you learn a bunch of things, you know, what you see on the ground is so much more different than what you see when you’re way up there, far away from everything!”

“Bird’s eye view, hm?” Akaashi blinks at him. “Doesn’t it ever get tiring? Being so removed from the ground?”

Koutarou thinks about it. “Not really. We come down often, you know, since we’re still humans and machines need repairing, right. And I guess. I guess you miss the hustlin’ and bustlin’ when you’re up in the clouds all the time.” He grins. “Nothing like a fresh pint in some tavern on earth, you know?”

“You’ll have to take me for a ride sometime,” Akaashi says with the slightest tilt of his lips.

They sit and Koutarou forgets about the rain for a while, retelling stories of his adventures sailing through the sky and listening to the soft lilt of Akaashi’s voice as he asks about all the places the ship has been to. It’s been a while since Koutarou had a chance to talk and talk and talk without someone telling him to shut up and focus. 

He’s just finishing a tale about visiting the royal city up north when a commotion at the door causes them to look up. Large men in navy blue suits, touched up with golden tassels, are striding through the doorway, rifles out and boots stomping. One of them holds out a small bronze contraption, opened with two disks spinning on top of it. A tracker of some sort.

“Bokuto-san.”

There’s a tug on his sleeve, and he glances back to meet green eyes. Then he is following Akaashi through the crowd, ducking and weaving past the rich cloths and clinking of glass and mineral. Akaashi doesn’t look back, not even when they step out in the rain and Koutarou has to squint just to see ahead of him. He keeps a tight grip on Akaashi’s hand, trusting the other to lead him safely.

It’s a couple minutes before Akaashi stops, and they hold their breath in an alley as heavy boots splash down the street past them. Koutarou hasn’t been on land for a long while, but even he knows when there are wars a-brewing.

“If you go down this street and turn left past the hat shop,” Akaashi tells him, “you’ll reach the docks again. You should leave as soon as the rain lets up, or the suits’ll come knocking.”

Koutarou doesn’t know what made him reach out, but he does, grasping Akaashi’s wrist once more. “D-Do you—do you want to come?”

Green eyes hold him captive for a heartbeat, then another. “Not all of us are free as captains of an airship, Bokuto-san.” Akaashi pushes his hand off, and then he’s leaning in close, close enough for Koutarou to go still at the barest touch of warm lips against his ear. “Goodnight, Bokuto Koutarou.”

It isn’t until Koutarou is back on the  _ Fukurodani  _ and dripping all over the wooden floors that he realizes his pouch of gold is gone. As Konoha frets about their captain being mugged or worse, catching a cold, Koutarou thinks with a detached sort of amusement that his money isn’t the only thing stolen—it seems Akaashi has also made off with his heart. 


	4. assassin + firsts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> keiji has never failed a single assignment. until one bokuto koutarou.

Keiji spots his target half a block away.

It’s not as if he was looking particularly hard, but even though the files didn’t exaggerate much about his wild appearance, this man just screams for attention. The horned-owl hair and giant frame helps, but there’s something about the way he walks, the large steps, the easy swing of his strong arms, the proud tilt to his chin as he glances around him like a king observing his kingdom. Everything the light touches is his.

Too bad his own light is about to be stolen.

Adjusting his collar, Keiji follows the man all the way to his hotel, until the door closes and Keiji is crouched in the shadows, readying his weapons and thinking of the quickest way to dispose of Bokuto Koutarou.

It’s the middle of the night when he manages to slip into the room, weapon of choice at the ready and feet moving confidently across the carpeted floor. His target doesn’t stir, spread-eagled on the bed and snoring loudly. Keiji takes a moment to furrow his brows in disgust at the trail of drool leaking from the man’s mouth. He’s seen messy sleepers often in his line of work, but he’s sure that position can’t be comfortable. His blankets aren’t even on the bed anymore.

Just as he is leaning over the target and steadying his hand, something strikes out. Too late, he tries to pull back, but his wrist is caught and his weapon falling to the floor harmlessly. Keiji’s left hand comes down, but that one is caught, too, and in moments he’s the one on the bed staring up at his target, whose gold eyes glint in the dark like a wild animal.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he says in a low, scratchy voice. “That’s a rude way to wake someone.”

Keiji doesn’t reply, choosing to glare at him instead.

“Come on, I won’t hurt you,” Bokuto says, leaning back a little, allowing the moonlight to strike the side of his face. He looks even more daunting, and if Keiji hasn’t stared at this man’s headshot for weeks, he’d be questioning if this was the same man he saw strolling through the streets like a happy-go-lucky fool, the same man who just moments before was sleeping without a care to the world.

“Who sent you?” Bokuto pinches Keiji’s wrist.

“Just kill me,” Keiji says in reply, turning his head. He probably could have fought Bokuto off, but he’s tired. He’s been doing this since he was a scrawny teenager, too angry at the world to realize he was being trained to be a dog doing dirty tricks for the agency. If he was to die tonight, then at least he will die in the hands of this beautiful man.

Bokuto stares at him for a moment more, the gold of his eyes telling nothing but mesmerizing just the same. Then he lets go of Keiji’s wrists, and sits back, settling his weight around Keiji’s middle. 

“I’m not gonna kill ya, kid.” Bokuto tilts his head. “But if you want, you can come with me.”

That night, neither of them die, and neither of them slept. When the sun streams in through the window, the room is empty and Bokuto’s back is broad, broader than any dream the Keiji who was forced to grow up too fast could have dreamt.

He follows.

 

 

 

 

Years later, a continent away and pressed against warm skin, Keiji looks up at the hand petting his hair.

“You know, you’re the first one that’s stayed with me this long,” Koutarou says to him.

“It’s a wonder I haven’t gotten tired of you yet,” Keiji replies, allowing his eyes to slip shut at the slight tug in his hair that goes along with Koutarou’s indignant yelp. He hums. “But you’re the first mark I’ve ever failed to kill, so. We’re even, I suppose.”

A pair of warm lips press against his temple. “I guess we are, Keiji. I guess we are.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i lost steam where i was going with this au ahaha but i guess it's up to you to conspire what bo did to get a bounty on his head in the first place


	5. after practice + fairy tales

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> bokuto koutarou, the hopeless romantic, and the many lives bokuaka take through various tales.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tbh this one is very experimental, i'm still not sure if i've achieved what i was going for, but i hope you like it just the same.
> 
> fairy tales and folk tales are so cool aaa

Everyone knows Koutarou is a hopeless romantic. 

He talks big, with wild gestures and enthusiastic voices, talk of stories and legends and myths and fairy tales, starring himself, starring his loved ones, eventually, always, always, leading up to the grand finale: a happy ending.

Koutarou is a hopeless romantic. He only wishes his life was a fairy tale, too.

 

 

 

Sometimes he imagines what his life would be like, if it was like one of the stories he studiously bookmarks and reads over and over again when it’s dark outside and his house is quiet and his mind refuses to calm down.

He envisions himself dressed in lavish clothing of another time, eyes bright and the sun behind him, holding his hand for a faceless princess to take.

 

 

 

Somewhere along the way, he finds himself looking up and realizing the hand he is kissing belongs to none other than one Akaashi Keiji. 

 

 

 

If he was Cinderella waiting on his evil stepsisters, who were less evil and more just really annoyed with his excitable yelling on the court, then Akaashi would play the charming prince who swept him off his feet.

(“You have two left feet,” Akaashi tells him, changing into his practice clothes in that speedy way of his. “The only time you’re graceful is when you’re flying through the air for a cross-court spike.”)

He’d dance the night away with those beautiful green eyes settled on his, sparkling lights swirling around them as Yukie and Komi whistled and clapped in the background, cheering him on.

And when the clock strikes twelve, he might run down the steps only to have dropped one of his kneepads or something, so when Akaashi inevitably showed up at his house he’d lean down as the other slowly pulls the black material onto his legs—ah, but that’s a story for another time.

 

 

 

If Koutarou isn’t the princess, and Akaashi is the mermaid that saved a prince from drowning at sea, then Koutarou thinks he’d be the prince’s best friend. When Akaashi comes out of the ocean to chase after his true love, Koutarou would support him with all he has, coming up with dumb jokes when Akaash is feeling down, just to watch the way the other boy throws back his head as he laughs, mouth open wide and eyes squeezed shut, laughter contagious despite never making it past his vocal chords.

And when the prince continues to look ahead and away from Akaashi’s best efforts, Koutarou would find him holding a dagger and hesitating outside the prince’s chambers, at a crossroads.

“I won’t stop you,” Koutarou would say, even though that’s his best friend in there, even though Kuroo has his own sweetheart and they’d been together since they were born.

Akaashi’s green eyes would haunt him until the day he took his last breath, when he woke in the morning to Kuroo’s booming laughter and look out in the ocean to see the sun sparkling against the sea foam bubbling in the distance.

(“I’m not fond of water,” says Akaashi, “and not particularly fond of pain-in-the-ass Kuroo-san, either.” He glances up at Koutarou, green eyes calm as the ocean on a sunny day. “Stretch with me, Bokuto-san.”)

 

 

 

Or maybe Koutarou is just a simple man living in the forest, cutting open a bamboo to find an almost ethereal boy sleeping inside. He’d take Akaashi home and they’d become friends over tea and the onigiri Koutarou clumsily made.

People from all over would come knocking on the door, hearing of Akaashi’s beauty and his polite coldness, challenging Koutarou’s right to this beautiful being. But Akaashi would stay, and Koutarou would learn how to make better onigiri, and they’d live happily ever after.

(“Thank you for lunch today,” Akaashi says, pushing along a volleyball cart. “Though maybe you should try adding less pickles next time.”)

But Akaashi would look out the window until Koutarou looked out too, only to see a full moon and shiver, because why did such a beautiful sight leave him so filled with dread?

“I must return home,” Akaashi would whisper in his ear, and Koutarou would try his hardest to hold onto the silk yukata he wore, silver like the moon above. “Thank you for everything.”

And when the next day dawned, Koutarou would look out into the bamboo forests, and think about what it would look like on fire.

But that’s too violent, that’s too much, so he’d pick up his knife and go out and do his work in this cold empty world of greens he called home.

 

 

 

Perhaps neither of them were royalty, and they were just two kids lost in the woods, hands clenched tight around the other, stumbling upon a delicious nikuman house in between the trees.

Akaashi would be weary because he’s always been smart, but even he could not stand the temptation of food! Right there! In front of them! For the taking!

And when the scary witch appeared, Akaashi would devise a brilliant plan to get Koutarou out of there. Koutarou would protest about being the one to escape but he had always been a coward at heart so when Akaashi squeezed his hand one last time, he’d crawl out of the little hole they ate through the mochi and run.

He’d vow to return for Akaashi, but who was he to ask Akaashi to wait for him?

(“Bokuto-san, you promised to treat everyone to meat buns today,” Akaashi reminds him, wiping sweat from his face with his shirt. “I’ll treat you to yakiniku next time.”)

 

 

 

If Akaashi was a poor little orphan boy, stumbling in the snow desperately trying to sell his remaining matchsticks, then Koutarou might be the snow that enveloped him from all around, no escape. He wanted to be so much closer to the boy, but the closer he got the colder Akaashi became. 

And maybe he’s mesmerized by the tiny flames Akaashi creates, shaking fingers reaching for another match, and another, watching memories flicker in and out like dying shooting stars.

Koutarou would still be there in the morning when the matchsticks burned out, and the stars fade away like ash amongst the snow.

(“Bokuto-san, please focus on figuring out your straight-spike,” Akaashi scolds him, grabbing another ball from the cart. “Or else our captain can sit out during the practice game.”)

 

 

 

Koutarou likes imagining himself as the hero, like fearless Momotarou. He’d say goodbye to his kind-hearted parents, promising to return with victory and gold to repay the favour of raising him to be strong and bold.

He’d make friends with owls and crows and swans and cats and maybe even snakes, and they’d conquer the natural world brandishing swords and beating up the bad guys.

(Akaashi turns towards him, face alight and eyes so bright. “Good spike, Bokuto-san,” he breathes, reaching out for a high-five.)

Ah, but where would Akaashi fit into his heroic quest? Maybe a friend. Yes, the very first friend, the very best friend, the one he shared all his power-up dumplings with. The one who stood by his side the longest and will continue to stand by his side forever more.

This tale would have no end, then, which would be exhausting, always on the hunt for bad guys. But, Koutarou thinks, that’s not so bad when he has his best friend right next to him for the rest of his life.

 

 

 

(When Konoha looks over to demand their captain help out with clean-up, Koutarou raises a finger to his lips, pointing at his vice-captain asleep on his shoulder. He turns a fond smile against Akaashi’s messy curls, and if Akaashi wakes to find their pinkies linked together, he only looks up at Koutarou and says, “Let’s go home, Bokuto-san.”)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -cinderella  
> -the little mermaid  
> -the bamboo cutter and the moon child  
> -hansel and gretel  
> -the little match girl  
> -momotarou (the peach boy)


	6. insecurities + coffeeshop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> everyone has moments when they waver. even someone like akaashi keiji.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> inspired by me barely surviving my finals this week and stupid anxieties that come knocking at 3 am
> 
> i hope you're all keeping warm and taking care of yourselves (: i'm cheering for you!

It’s snowing again by the time Koutarou rushes into the coffeeshop located a block away from the university and down the street from the apartment. The door jingles as he walks in, shaking the melting snow off his toque. He spots Akaashi instantly, or rather, the mess of black curls against the table with laptop open and papers surrounding him.

“Akaashi! Are you still alive!”

His presence is only acknowledged by a muffled groan. Akaashi doesn’t even move his head so he can breathe, face pressed into a textbook. Koutarou tugs on one of his curls and gets a half-hearted swat at his hand.

“C’mon, Akaashi,” he says, shuffling the papers and loose pens until there’s some sense of order on the table. “Do you want me to get you another drink?”

There’s barely a hum in response, so Koutarou walks over to the counter and orders another americano. When he returns, Akaashi has sat up, but he has his head in his hands and refuses to show Koutarou his face.

Koutarou pushes the coffee across the table. “Are you okay?”

“No.” His voice is a miserable whine, something Akaashi never allows anybody else to know he is capable of. But it’s the middle of exam season, and Koutarou has been with him long enough to have seen most if not all the sides of Akaashi, and vice versa. 

“Do you want to take a break—”

“No,” Akaashi repeats, more forcefully this time. His long fingers twist themselves in his hair, face still hidden within the crooks of his arms, his shoulders hunched into themselves. He looks like the very definition of stress. “I can’t afford to take a break, Bokuto-san. Unlike you, I have a million different things I need to prepare for, and deadlines to make and assignments to finish, I don’t have time to take a fucking break—”

“Keiji.”

Akaashi gasps, a small sound barely heard over the quiet din of the cafe. His hands come down slowly, shakily, and while he’s still not making eye contact, his face isn’t hidden anymore. “I’m sorry,” he says, voice small like it almost never is. It doesn’t feel right, coming from someone who is usually so confident and sure in where he stands, all five feet and eleven inches of him.

Koutarou leans forwards, hands open on the table in case Akaashi needs the contact. “Hey. What’s wrong?”

It takes a long breath, then another, before Akaashi closes his eyes and reaches across the table to grasp Koutarou’s fingers. “I handed in an assignment late yesterday. I forgot about it, even though I’ve marked it on the calendar for the last two months, but I’ve just been so busy with tests and exams and then one of my profs decided he wanted us to do group projects instead of a final, so I’ve been running back and forth from the library trying to coordinate with my group members but I. I just.” He clenches Koutarou’s hands hard enough to sting a little. 

“Too much?” Koutarou prompts gently. It takes a lot for Akaashi to talk so much and so freely like this, but once he starts, Koutarou knows he wants to finish.

“No. Yes,” Akaashi corrects himself, “but it’s more than that. I’ve been so focused on getting everything done I realized I just—I lost sight of what I’m really after. I couldn’t sleep last night because I couldn’t stop thinking about it but I... I know I don’t want to disappoint my parents, or myself, but I’m just not—not sure anymore, if this is what I want to do, what I want to be, for the rest of my life, I...”

He trails off, eyes dropping onto their clasped hands. He sighs. “I don’t know. I think I might just need sleep.”

Koutarou can only squeeze back on Akaashi’s hands. “Okay,” he says, because he’s not here to offer answers he doesn’t have, answers he’s pretty sure no one has. He’s not here to promise him false reassurances, to tell him everything’s going to turn out okay, even though he desperately wants to believe that, too. Akaashi’s given him comfort so many times in the past; Koutarou wants to be able to do the same for his most treasured person in the world.

“Okay,” he repeats, pulling his hands away briefly to stand up. He tugs Akaashi to his feet. “Let’s get you some sleep, then, yeah?” He helps Akaashi put away his things, before grabbing the warm coffee and pressing it into Akaashi’s palm. Shouldering Akaashi’s bag, Koutarou reaches for Akaashi’s free hand.

“Let’s go home.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact for this au: this coffeeshop was probably definitely the location of their first "proper" date; proper bc they've been on many other excursions together already before they properly acknowledged their mutual feelings ahahaha romance,,


	7. sleepover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> bokuto seems to forget the 'sleep' part of a sleepover.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol technically i tried to stick the "pirate" prompt in here lololol

At the sound of a third loud sniffle, Keiji sighs and rolls over on his futon. He squints through the dark at the Bokuto-shaped lump on the bed. There’s a faint glow underneath the blanket tent.

“Bokuto-san? Are you reading under your blanket?”

Another sniffle. “No.”

“... Are you crying?”

Bokuto stays quiet for a bit, and then there is some shuffling and then the blanket comes off and he turns towards Keiji and from the small flashlight Keiji sees that his captain is, indeed, crying.

“A-Are you alright?” Keiji asks, a little alarmed. Bokuto cries a lot, but usually when there is a lot of people around and he clearly asks for comfort from his friends. So it’s understandable why Bokuto crying in the middle of the night sends alarm bells ringing in Keiji’s head.

“No,” Bokuto sobs. “Look at them, they made another friend,” he says, holding out the book he’s reading.

Sitting up, Keiji takes the offered only to frown up at his captain. “You’re reading manga?”

“Not just any manga. It’s  _ One Piece _ , Akaashi, it’s something special.” Bokuto wipes his face. “Maybe the true treasure was the friends they made along the way. True nakama power.”

Keiji squints at him. Bokuto has taken the book back and is staring at it forlornly like a kicked owl. Sighing to himself, Keiji shifts a little closer to his captain. “Bokuto-san. Are you worried about graduating and leaving the team?”

Wide eyes catch his, and Bokuto’s mouth hangs open for a bit. “I—A-A little bit, I guess. Not—Not particularly? I mean, I know it’s in good hands, especially if you become the captain, Akaashi! But I’m definitely going to. Going to miss it. I mean. I don’t know if my new team is going to accept me like you guys have, you know? I mean! I know I’m only going to improve, and I will improve! But I really love playing with you guys at Fukurodani and you guys were the best friends I could have asked for even if you’re a little mean to me sometimes—”

“Bokuto-san.” Keiji waits until Bokuto hiccups a little, gathering himself again. There was a scout or two that approached him during their last few games. He’s happy for his captain, but maybe there’s something about the quiet of the middle of the night, but there’s something that rings about his words. He taps the manga that’s fallen shut on Bokuto’s bed. “Who is your favourite character?”

Bokuto tilts his head. “Well, Zoro is so cool! But I think Luffy is the best!”

“Because he never lets anything get him down?”

“Yeah! And he is so determined and makes friends so easily—”

Keiji stays up all night, listening to Bokuto explain the characters and the plot of the manga, even as his eyes droop and he can already picture the bags under his eyes the next morning. Bokuto talks with his hands, tear tracks on his cheeks forgotten, confident grin drifting back onto his face. Fighting back yawns, Keiji rests his elbows on the edge of the bed, and listens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm barely ten eps into one piece i'm sorry for my lack of knowledge but NAKAMA POWER!!!!!!!!!!! and all that


	8. free day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a quiet moment between two members of an up-and-coming idol group above the bright lights of tokyo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tbh i've also, unfortunately, come up with an elaborate idol/boyband au for my volleyfaves, so consider this the unofficial unveiling of this au (which will probably come out in the future as a series of unconnected drabbles, snapshots and peeks into their everyday lives as they try their very best to be the best there ever was---)

“Great work, everyone!”

Clapping and cheers ring out around the set as the cameras stop rolling and the lights are shut off. The director is already hunched over the screens with the crew, muttering about which parts to edit and which special effects to use. Meanwhile, the managers and stylists usher the boys back towards the changing rooms.

“Am I glad we’re done that,” Kuroo says, shrugging off the leather jacket he’s sporting. “If I had to repeat that step sequence one more time, I swear...”

“I’m all sweaty,” mumbles Kenma. He has three stylists trying to peel off the red-black-checkered hoodie of him, his eyes barely open and looking a second away from collapsing.

Keiji decides to save his breath, allowing the makeup artists to remove the eyeliner and foundation on his face. Behind him, he can hear Bokuto’s whining to leave his hair alone, “Let me be the alpha owl for a bit longer, please, please,  _ please _ —”

When they finally exit in their own clothes, bowing to all the staff, they’re tired enough the conversation is reduced to quiet murmurs and weary grunts. Kenma’s already leaning heavily against Kuroo, for once without his phone in hand. Even Bokuto’s nonstop chatter is muted. Keiji tugs on his hat, mind a soft hum.

“Hey, hey,” Bokuto says when they’re at the station waiting for the train. “What do you say about going for a drink, to celebrate the wrapping up of our very first mv!”

“You know any other time I’d be down to getting smashed with you,” Kuroo says, looking over Kenma’s head. “But I should get this kitten home before he crashes for real.”

“Don’t call me kitten,” Kenma mutters, but it’s muffled against the scarf covering half his face.

“Ah, that’s okay! We can do something this weekend!”

“We’re in the studio again this weekend,” Keiji reminds them.

“Well, whenever then!” Bokuto hooks an arm around Keiji. “How about you accompany me for the night, then, Akaaaaaashiiiii?”

Keiji sighs through his nose, but there’s no saying no to those bright eyes and that brilliant grin. They wave goodbye to the other half of their group, and then Keiji follows Bokuto as they wander their way through nighttime Tokyo. He shoves his hands in his pockets, watching the ever-changing lights around them blur into some sort of suspended dreamscape.

“Bokuto-san?” he says finally, noticing the direction the other was leading them in. “I thought you wanted to drink.”

“Hmm? Nah, I don’t want to make you have to lug my drunk deadweight home.” Bokuto grins at him. “I wanna show you something.”

They’re only recognized once by a couple of high school girls, but for the most part they blend into the anonymous sleepless crowd. It’s not a surprise, as they’ve only recently debuted as an official group, but each of them have gathered fans from previous work in the industry. Bokuto, in particular, used to be in a pretty prestigious dance group. Kuroo was your typical pretty boy model, the tall giant he is, and Kenma followed in his childhood friend’s footsteps through the Nekoma Boys Group until their managers managed to match up. Keiji himself walked the musical path, until his manager decided his looks could use a boost from the idol world rather than going solo. Keiji didn’t mind, as long as he could continue doing music.

A train ride and another twenty minutes of walking later, Bokuto stops. He spreads his arms wide, laughing in that booming way of his before turning to Keiji with that radiant smile of his. The gold of his eyes seem to glow from reflecting the distant city lights. 

“This is a secret between us, okay?”

Keiji can only nod, tearing his eyes away from Bokuto’s to see their hometown spread out before them, all sorts of colours twinkling across below them like a map of the stars. Cars behind them drive on by as he clutches the railings of the bridge, late night breeze ruffling the black curls that escaped his hat. He feels strange, like he’s on top of the whole wide world and so, so small at the same time. 

“Hey, hey, hey,” Bokuto says, staring out at the city, too. Even with the beanie hat tugged snugly over his floppy silver-and-black hair and the large overcoat over his shoulders, it’s easy to spot that confident posture, the vibrant charisma that draws fans to him like magnets. “We’re gonna rule the world, right, Akaashi?”

Keiji hears the echo of the lyrics of their new hit single, the one they were filming since nine am this morning. His lips curl up in a smile as he shuffles over to press his shoulder against his group member, his teammate, his friend. 

“Yeah. We’re gonna rule the world tomorrow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for your support and enthusiasm for this week. i hope you'll continue to look forwards to more of my volleyowl drabbles in the future.  
> spread the owl love!  
> i wish you all happy holidays (: thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> come scream about bokuaka with me @puddingcatbae on tumblr or twitter!!


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